


bird of winter

by knowsphere



Category: Batman (Comics), DCU (Comics)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-14
Updated: 2015-11-14
Packaged: 2018-04-26 05:32:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,394
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4992139
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/knowsphere/pseuds/knowsphere
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There is a ghost in the manor.</p>
            </blockquote>





	bird of winter

**Author's Note:**

> inspired by the short black and white panels "The Delusions of Alfred Pennyworth" at the end of Batman Gotham Knights #34.
> 
> warning: this writer has so many feelings and doesn't really know how to write.

 

It took Damian some time to get used to the winter in Gotham. He’s had combat survival trainings in nearly every kind of extreme environments, but he found Gotham’s winter the most unbearable of them all. It was humid when it snowed, and it made his skin crawl. In the city, the air tasted like ashes. Half melted snow left dark trails of slush in the alleys and on the rooftops and made every landing slippery.

 

Not that Damian spent a lot of time in the city anyway. Father wanted him to stay in the manor, training to be more prepared to fit into the role of Robin. But a fool could see it was because he didn’t trust him. So he was benched.

 

But Damian was desperate to prove himself. He was raised a warrior, and an honorable one too. He was his mother’s son and he could surely handle a couple of criminals and dressed-ups. Anything Batman could do, he could do as well, if not better. But then father had his own set of code, and he couldn’t bear how Damian got passed the manor’s security alarm and ran away many times trying to prove his point.

 

They were both proud people, father and son. Neither of them would back away at first. But in the end, they both took a step back. Damian spent half of the week staying in the manor, and in the other half, Batman and Robin swung into action on Gotham’s streets.

 

* * *

 

On Thursdays, father usually slept in. Pennyworth cleaned up the house and did the laundry. Damian wandered around in the house, opening the door of every empty room and closing it. It seemed pointless. But this was his house now, and a master of the house should frequently check up on his territory. It was a big house, but the rooms were dull. Most of them were furnished with beds and fireplaces and oil paintings on the wall. Damian stuck a mental note of talking to father about refurnishing these rooms into something more useful and pleasant, like a whole wall of swords display or something.

 

There were a lot of mirrors covered in cloth. It seemed to be a foolish tradition. In one of those rooms, there was one that occupied the space of a whole wall. He drew the curtains aside and let it reveal his reflection. A child, he thought angrily. _That’s how father sees me._ And isn’t it how they all think? His opponents underestimated him. People around him dismissed him because they all saw him only as a child. Mother didn’t.

 

He was standing alone in the room with his own thought aggravating him when he noticed the room, or rather, something in it. The room was not particularly lighted. It was on the shady side of the house and the window curtains were closed. It was getting chilly and Damian could feel it in his bone that it wasn’t a natural one.

 

Something might be moving at the corner of his eye.

 

 _Where are you?_ He hissed at the shadows in the room. _Come out and face me!_

 

No one, or nothing, answered him. As he left and closed the door behind him, Damian could have sworn that there was a puff of air breathed at the back of his neck and it was definitely not wind. But when he turned around, the corridor was empty and quiet.

 

* * *

 

He ended up in the parlor. Alfred has clearly finished a load of laundry and was having tea.

 

 _Master Damian._ The butler greeted him. _Would you like something to eat?_

 

 _I’m fine._ Damian grumbled.

 

If there’s one thing that surprised him when he first came to father’s house, it’s the old butler. In his early life, Damian had only known three types of people: his mother—someone he loved and respected and was eager to prove himself to, opponents or enemies that stood in his way—the ones that he would exterminate without batting an eye, and finally, the weak and the ignorant. Alfred Pennyworth didn’t belong to any of these categories. He seemed harmless, but if Damian pushed too far or stepped over the line he wouldn’t hesitate to teach him a memorable lesson in the hard way. He was kind and wise in his nature. He was not a Wayne, but was without doubt, the most important member of the family, and he would protect everyone in it till his last breath. Damian had learned to grow a solemnly respect towards him.

 

One strange thing Damian had noticed, though, was that Alfred always set two teacups. The other one was usually empty. And it was a strange teacup, too, because there was a small crack on its rim. Surely the Wayne household could afford a new set of china. Damian had no idea why Alfred kept the damaged one or why he still polished it with the other cups.

 

 _There are mysteries in this house._ Damian thought. _But none that matters._

 

They were just insignificant compared to what he had in mind. And it bored him to death.

 

* * *

 

Someone had messed around with his stuff. Damian found.

 

It couldn’t be Alfred. He always kept everything in place after cleaning up his room. Father, maybe? But his favourite blade was still well hidden under the mattress. If father wanted to find something, he usually succeeded. So it couldn’t be father either. No one else had the access to his room. It couldn’t be possible.

 

So there might be a ghost in this house.

 

Damian went to the room where he believed he first encountered it the other day. He stood in the middle of the room and tightened his grip on the hilt of his blade.

 

_Come on out, spirit. I’m not going to hurt you._

 

It was a lie, of course. He was going to hurt it bad. No one got to terrorize his house. Ghosts included.

 

Damian waited for ten minutes or so. Nothing happened. He turned and looked into the mirror. His reflection was frowning at him. And then the mirror fogged up, and was drawn on—a curve that turned his frown upside down. Damian turned around sharply and a spirit that looked like it was made of white fog appeared right in front of him. Damian didn’t waste any time and pulled out the blade and impaled it. The figure of the spirit had cleared up and come into shape at that moment and Damian widened his eyes—

 

It was a young boy, about his age, a bit scrawny. He stared at the blade in his chest, horrified. Damian was stunned and—what did he just do—

 

And then the ghost boy started laughing. Actually laughing, but without any sound. He moved away from Damian’s blade, which didn’t do any damage to his ghost body at all.

 

Damian’s first instinct was to attack again. But he knew it would be useless and this ghost, this boy just pranked him and laughed at his own performance. Damian’s quick assessment was that the ghost had no intention to or couldn’t harm him in any way. But that didn’t make him his new best friend and being laughed at by a ghost was simply unacceptable for Damian, the son of Batman, a Wayne, an al Ghul.

 

 _Who are you and what are you doing in my house?_ Damian held his blade and asked forcefully.

 

The ghost boy gathered himself and floated in front of him. Damian could see him better this time. He was white-ish, and transparent, and smiling. He reminded Damian of something he once read in a book about Inuit mythology—like he was made of Silla—the breath of life and the substance of soul, part of the air, the sky, the ground, taking any forms he liked and merged into the environment around him if he liked. But Damian somehow knew he wasn’t an Inuit spirit.

 

The ghost fogged up the mirror again and wrote on it with his index finger.

 

_Robin._

 

 _That’s me._ Damian frowned.

 

The ghost continued writing, _your housemate. Friend._

 

 _I don’t want you here, and you certainly are not my friend,_ Damian hissed. _Leave this house now--this is the only warning you’ll get._

 

The boy just smirked, and disappeared into thin air.

 

Damian had a bad feeling about how the ghost was definitely planning on coming back.

 

* * *

 

Damian tried every exorcism he could think of. None of them worked. The ghost always came back, looking smugger day after day. He didn’t stay for very long, but long enough to make Damian feel humiliated.

 

He was not hostile, no. He just moved Damian’s stuff around, and snuck up on him, and drew funny pictures on the mirrors. Basically, pranks. That’s way worse.

 

Damian didn’t want to tell father about this. Telling would mean asking for help. How could he fail to handle a junior ghost? Laughable.

 

The ghost, apparently, thought so too. He had this amused look every time Damian attempted to capture or exorcise him. And he laughed every time Damian failed. In the end, he almost looked sympathetic at how frustrated Damian was and almost gave him a pat on the shoulder.

 

At the end of the day, the ghost was still here. And Damian could only set the floor on fire a few times before Alfred or father took notice.

 

This was… unexpected. For the spirit, it was a boy’s game. For Damian, it was a challenge, an absurd one at first, but now… now he decided to take a few days to contemplate his next move.

 

* * *

 

It was snowing again. Everything on the hills was covered in silver and it stung Damian’s eyes.

 

There was an emergency at Arkham. There was a riot and fortunately, Batman’s rogues on the top list didn’t break out, only a few lame ones did. How bizarre. Some insane chemists. Damian thought. He had lost track of their names.

 

They easily took down six inmates. Two more left, who had run into the forest. Batman knocked out the one nearest and pursued the other one. Damian tried to follow him but Batman instructed him to take this one back to Arkham. Typical.

 

He cuffed the prisoner and punched him unconscious when he seemed to start waking up. Then he felt there was a sting at the back of his neck. Something was wrong. There was a shadow moving behind the bush. Damian didn’t waste any time before he attacked. It was… a guard?

 

Well, a fake guard. That’s how those weird scientists broke out. There was someone on the inside that let them out. They were all in this group of cult together. Damian suddenly felt his mind numb. He struck him down easily and grabbed him, _what did you inject me with?!_

 

The man just smirked dirty. Then Damian realised what was wrong. He couldn’t hear his own voice.

 

Damian punched him again and cuffed him with the other one. He looked at the direction that Batman had disappeared into. How many guards were in on this? This could be an ambush.

 

Father needs help. Damian ran as fast as he could. When the sight of Batman, who was tying up the prisoner, came into his view, he also saw another guard coming out of hiding from behind and took out his gun. Damian wanted to yell, but his voice wouldn’t work. The range was so far away throwing a batarang wouldn’t hit anything but trees. As Damian was searching anything in his head and reached for the knife in his belt, something flew over him like a bullet.

 

Damian blinked in surprise and watched the flying object hit the guard in no time and knocked the gun out of his hand. Batman threw a bola and the guard cursed as he tripped and fell. And then Batman stared back at the gun on the ground. Damian followed his gaze.

 

A small bird was standing on the gun. It huffed. Damian blinked. The next minute there was only the gun covered in snow on the ground. 

 

But Batman was rooted to the spot and was still staring at the direction of the gun. He looked almost confused, and strangely wistful.

 

* * *

 

Damian’s throat healed the next week. But he wasn’t sure if his head was alright because he could have sworn he saw the same bird in the woods that day stopping by his window.

 

He went to the bookshelves. Alfred was there. _Is there something you’re looking for, Master Damian?_

 

 _Is there a book on North American birds?_ Damian asked.

 

The butler raised an eyebrow but didn’t question further. He took a book off the shelf and laid it in front of Damian. _May I ask what kind of bird you’re interested in, Master Damian?_

 

Damian hesitated a bit. _Robin, I think. Small and puffy. Has a black head and a red chest._

 

Alfred turned the pages and showed him the different pictures of all kinds of robins living in North America.

 

 _It’s none of those._ Damian frowned. _The color isn’t right. Its chest was blood red._

 

 _It may be a matter of mutation._ Alfred said. _These pictures only show the most common ones. It’s possible the one you saw was one of a kind._

 

 _What do you know about animal spirits?_ Damian asked abruptly. He suddenly felt like he sounded like a fool.

 

But Alfred wasn’t taken by surprise by his question and didn’t seem to judge him. _Not much, I’m afraid. I read it in a book once, saying that they fulfill the role of protectors. Some said spirits are formless, or can take any forms they like, including animals._

 

Damian nodded numbly. _Thank you, Alfred._

 

 _Any time, Master Damian._ The butler smiled.

 

* * *

 

Damian found him in the attic. The boy was peering quietly at a stack of cardboard boxes.

 

Damian stood with his hands in his pockets and stared at the boy’s lean back. _It was you, wasn’t it._ He said. It wasn’t much of a question. _You were there. You saved father’s life. You were the robin._

 

The ghost turned to meet his gaze. His eyes were dark and hollow and still, unlike all the laughter and mischief every time Damian saw him before. They were frozen, like helplessness and disappointment, like cold fury.

 

Damian tensed. It was a reflex. But Robin didn’t attack. He crouched down and scribbled on the floor covered by dust.

 

 _Thank you for saving him._ Damian said carefully.

 

The boy didn’t look up. He crossed out what he just wrote and disappeared in thin air.

 

Damian couldn’t make out the whole sentence, just scattered words: ‘Bruce’, ‘father’, ‘too’.

 

* * *

 

The next day the boy ghost came back with his usual cheeky grin. Damian put down his book. _I still don’t trust you. And your company is not desired here. But since there is nothing I can do to keep you out, you will stay in this house on my terms. No moving my stuff. No jumping from behind trying to attack me. No pranking of any kind. No surprises. No ghosting around when there are other people in the house. And I don’t want father to know about this._

 

The boy rolled his eyes and shrugged.

 

 _Fine. It’s settled then._ Damian frowned. _What is your name anyway? I could call you ghost, but I get a feeling that you’re going to object._

 

The boy smiled and gestured Damian to follow him.

 

 _Ugh. Didn’t I just say no surprises?_ Damian signed. But the boy already disappeared into hallway.

 

Damian finally caught up with him in the cave. As far as Damian knew, the ghost had never come down here before, which was strange because he knew his way around in the house and it seemed impossible that he hadn’t discovered every secret corner tugged away, and even stranger that he decided to show Damian here right now.

 

The boy touched the glass of the case of an old Robin costume and huffed.

 

 _What are you trying to tell me?_ Damian demanded. He remembered the first time he asked the ghost what his name was, the ghost wrote Robin. _Are you saying you were Robin?_

 

The boy looked at him in the eyes and nodded.

 

_Grayson was Robin. Drake was Robin. Even that Brown girl. How can you be Robin?_

 

The boy didn’t say anything. He just turned back to stare at the uniform. Damian asked, _you were the dead one?_ The ghost changed his form and now he was wearing the Robin symbol.

 

 _I’m not calling you Robin._ Damian said. _That’s my name now._

 

The boy just shrugged and grinned, before he turned into the robin and flew out of the cave.

 

* * *

 

Well, Damian ended up calling the ghost Robin.

 

It just felt strange to compete with a ghost. Even for Damian. He justified it to himself that it’s “robin” with a lower case r. Because he couldn’t keep calling him “ghost”, and since he was technically a robin, he’d just call him robin. It sounded less stupid.

 

It’s not like, Robin was his companion or his friend or anything. He was just… there. He watched him training alone, looked over his shoulder when he was reading a book, and stood on his window frame.

 

He was a better company than the people he met in Gotham, Damian admitted. But it was probably because he couldn’t really speak. He could write on the mirror. And sometimes they played tic-tac-toe.

  

* * *

 

Grayson visited the manor twice a week. He said he came to train with Damian. They sparred. Grayson won the first three rounds. Damian was getting irritated and bored. He used a dirty move and knocked Grayson down.

 

 _Ow. That’s harsh._ Grayson sat up on the floor and wiped the blood off his mouth.

 

 _I won._ Damian stated.

 

Usually Damian just headed upstairs and locked himself in his room, because Grayson was the worst kind of babysitters. He was not an idiot but he usually acted like one. He’s got skills but he held back for some stupid rules. And his persistence of being friendly and even brotherly was just unbearable for Damian. An opponent that wanted to be friends with him.

 

Grayson looked like a kicked puppy when Damian turned away. Damian did not feel guilty. He did not. But he thought about all the sharing-and-caring nonsense that Grayson had been given him and the fact that Grayson had saved father like twice last week and threw him a bone anyway. _There is a ghost in this house._ He said matter-of-factly to the older man.

 

 _A ghost? That’s not possible. Bruce just installed a new ghost detector. It should keep all the ghosts outside the manor._ Grayson said.

 

 _It’s a different kind of ghost._ Damian said.

 

 _What do you mean a different kind of ghost?_ Grayson frowned. _Do we have to worry about it? Is it some sort of vengeful spirits? Shouldn’t we tell B?_

 

Damian shrugged. _It’s just different._

 

_Wait—is this a metaphor? Like ‘an elephant in the room’ or something like that? Look, I know Bruce is out a lot and you have to deal with me, but I’m good company! And you’re not a guest in this house, Damian. Make yourself at home and feel free to talk to me if something is troublin—_

 

 _Just forget it, Grayson._ Damian turned around and headed to the stairs.

 

* * *

 

Damian cursed in foreign language as he stormed into his room. Again, father grounded him.

 

_He was about to kill you! I was trying to protect—_

 

_So you cut his hand off? There are a million ways of stopping him and you chose the most barbaric method! This is not how we do things!_

 

Damian punched the wall and sank to the floor.

 

Robin was floating in front of him with a disappointed look.

 

 _Are you judging me too?_ He snapped. _It was the right thing to do! The man was a criminal! Now he’ll never be able to hold a gun again or hurt anyone else. He deserved it!_

 

Robin dragged out a pen and paper and sat down on the floor.

 

_Maybe. Or maybe not. But being Robin isn’t always about doing what you think it’s right. It’s a symbol and an ideal. And you have to match the symbol and live up to it. Striking fear is Batman’s job. Robin brings people hope._

 

Damian pressed his head against his knees. _I want him to respect me and to trust me._

 

Robin put a hand on his shoulder. Damian looked up. 

 

 _He already does._ The boy smiled brightly at him. _Otherwise he wouldn’t make you his partner._

 

* * *

 

_There’re a lot of things you can do in winter._

 

 _Like what?_ Damian arched an eyebrow.

 

Robin grinned happily. _Like making a snowman, or a snow angel._

 

 _That sounds stupid._ Damian mumbled.

 

_And you can have a snowball fight. Or go bird watching._

 

_You’re a bird, aren’t you. I already watched you._

 

 _That’s different._ Robin tried to argue. _Have you ever tasted a snowflake?_

 

 _Tt._ Damian rolled his eyes. _That’s the stupidest thing on your moronic list._

 

Robin made a face. _Come on! Go outside with me and I can show you all the secret tunnels and the new traps._

 

Damian looked suspicious. _I already know all the tunnels and the security traps._

 

Robin smirked. _Do you really wanna bet?_

 

Damian considered for a second, and grabbed his coat. _Fine, let’s head out._

 

He ended up staying outside longer than he intended without realizing the time. If he had snow in his hair and in his coat from the snowball fight with a ghost, he would never admit that was mildly enjoyable.

  

* * *

 

Damian was playing chess with Robin in his room. Surprisingly, the boy was pretty good at it. The game was going down fiercely when Damian heard Grayson outside in the hallway. _Hey kid, I’m leaving. Tell the big man I—,_ he opened the door and froze at the sight of one boy sitting cross-legged on the floor, the other one floating in the air, with the chessboard between them.

 

 _Jason?_ His voice cracked.

 

Robin had a huge grin on his face. Grayson was rooted to the floor looking like he might break down at any moment. The boy came close to him, reaching out his white fingertips and booped his nose.

 

* * *

 

Alfred suggested tea. Fifteen minutes later, all three of them sat down in the kitchen.

 

Alfred took slow sips of his tea and looked outside the window wistfully. Grayson stared at his drink, holding the cup tightly. His knuckles were white, for a minute, Damian was afraid he would break the fragile china.

 

Damian put down his cup, _tell me._

 

Grayson finally looked up, rubbing his hand over his face.

 

 _Jason. His name was Jason._ He began.

 

* * *

 

 _You never told me the story of that teacup._ Damian said.

 

Alfred looked up from the sink and then looked back at the damaged cup he had in his hand.

 

 _The first night Master Jason stayed in the manor, I made him tea with this cup._ Alfred said wistfully. _He was nervous, understandably. I assured him it was alright, it was just a cup. No one would notice a little crack on the edge. To show him that, I kept the cup with the rest of the set._

 

Damian didn’t know what to say.

 

* * *

 

Damian could hear Dick’s laughter in the hallway. He and Jason got along famously well. Damian wondered if they were this close back in the day. Dick spent the whole afternoon in his room with Jason, talking (miming, actually) and playing broad games. He asked Damian to join them but Damian dismissed the invitation claiming he had better things to do.

 

Damian peeked through the crack of the door. _Stop cheating! Man, you really are him._ Dick threw a game piece at Jason. _And your puns aren’t funny. Mine are clearly better._

 

Jason smirked. He looked absolutely pleased with himself. Damian couldn’t see Dick’s face, but he could tell he was relaxed and happy, even more than usual.

 

The second time of today, Damian didn’t know what to think of that.

 

* * *

 

Dick and Alfred were chatting in the kitchen. Damian walked in and stopped deliberately in front of them, _are we going to talk about the obvious?_

 

Dick looked puzzled, _what’s that?_

 

Damian said impatiently, _about what we should do with the ghost. We should exorcise it, correct? What if it’s vengeful?_

 

Dick breathed in sharply, _Damian, you said it yourself, Jason is a different kind of ghost. I don’t think he will harm anyone._

 

 _You don’t know that,_ Damian said. _Because from what you told me, he was betrayed and brutally murdered. And no one avenged his death. That sounds like a dangerous ghost to me._

 

Dick stared at him for a moment, and dragged him out of the kitchen. _Excuse us, Alfred._

 

 _Look, Damian…_ Dick sat down on the bottom stair and ran his hand through his hair. _Our life is pretty weird. I mean, your dad dresses up as a bat and spends most of the day in a cave. You are trained by assassins and can probably think of ten ways of killing me before I finish this sentence. We wear tights and put on masks to beat up bad guys… The point is, this life chose us and we chose this life. And in our line of work, everyone has lost something, or someone at one point or another. And Jason… Jason was one of our losses. When Bruce first took him in and made him Robin, he was a troubled kid. A good kid, but a troubled one. He was angry but was determined to put down bad guys and help Batman clean up the streets. Being Robin gave him a purpose, and was the best thing that happened to him, among all the terrible things that he had to go through when he was a child. I was angry and unsure at first. Because that’s my name he was taking… Robin was my name. My mother used to call me that before she died._

 

 _I didn’t know._ Damian said quietly.

 

 _It’s alright._ Dick smiled sadly. _Anyway, what I was trying to say is that when I saw Jason today, he looked so happy and worry-free. I haven’t seen him like that in ages. And I just thought…maybe, maybe there are miracles in our work too. Maybe there is a chance that he finally has his peace. After all those horrible things that have happened…he isn’t swallowed by anger and resentment, he has a chance at another life. Or maybe he was tied to this house, to those happy memories preserved here, like echoes…I know it’s a slight chance. But I want to believe that. And Damian, you spent weeks with him and you knew he isn’t going to hurt anyone and—_

 

 _Okay._ Damian said.

 

 _Okay?_ Dick echoed, baffled. _Just like that?_

 

 _Yes._ Damian sat down beside him. _You are right._

 

 _Okay then._ Dick said.

 

They sat on the stair silently until Alfred told them dinner was ready.

 

* * *

 

 _Normally I would make fun of you about how you are a loser because you died on the job,_ Damian poked him with a stick absent-mindedly, and the boy—Jason—easily dodged all his attacks and challenged him with a daring look. _But Alfred and Richard insisted it was not your fault._

 

 _They said no boys of your age should be dead._ Damian tossed the stick away and threw himself onto the bed, too lazy to climb under the cover. It had been a long day.

 

 _I guess they are right._ Damian mumbled, and fell fast asleep.

 

When he woke up in the morning, a blanket was wrapped around him. Outside the window, a robin was singing its morning tunes.

 

* * *

 

Alfred was dusting the bookshelves. The manor had an amazing collection of books. There were classical ones written in flowery language and very practical ones that told you how to fish or how to survive on your own if you were lost in rainforests. Father ordered in books every month. He let Alfred and Damian go through the catalogue and add whichever books they wanted on the list. Damian tried to order scrolls written in ancient languages by the greatest master assassins back in the day but father has forbidden him to do so. Since then he just settled for some textbooks that Alfred suggested and knitting magazines.

 

Jason was very excited. He flew up and down and pointed at various spines.

 

 _What’s wrong with him?_ Damian frowned.

 

 _Master Jason is quite an avid reader, Master Damian._ Alfred smiled.

 

Jason made up his mind on one book and looked expectantly at Alfred. The butler took the book off the shelf and put it down on the table and flipped the pages.

 

Damian glanced at the boy, who was now focusing on nothing but the book, and murmured to Alfred. _When should we tell him?_

 

 _Is this a good idea, Master Damian?_ Alfred said uncertainly, _Master Bruce… how should I put it, might find it difficult to accept._

 

 _Somehow,_ Damian said, _I think he already knows. But he thinks it’s a delusion._

 

Damian watched Jason flickering the pages for a long moment. _I think I’ll think of something._

 

* * *

 

Damian found him in front of the bat computer. _It’s a lovely afternoon out there, father. Would you like to go for a walk?_

 

Father turned away from the keyboard, surprised. _Okay._ He said, and grabbed a coat and followed Damian outside.

 

It was winter still. The snow stopped last night but the sky hadn’t cleared out. It was actually pleasant here. Trees were bare but the snow covered the branches like coats. Small animals came out of hiding in the middle of the day. And birds that decided to stay for the winter chirped and sang.

 

Damian thought he could get used to it here.

 

They walked in silence.

 

Then Damian glanced at the much bigger man beside him, and said, conversationally, _I saw a robin yesterday. I didn’t know what variety it belongs to._

 

 _You should ask Alfred about it. Or Dick. They used to go on bird watching trips._ Father replied.

 

 _Yes. But this one is different. I don’t think he is any of the kinds,_ said Damian.

 

They stopped in front of the hills where his grandparents were buried, and where Jason’s grave was.

 

Damian turned and was now looking father in the eyes. _I think he saw your life the other day, in the woods. And probably many times before. And I know you think it wasn’t real, that you are going crazy._

 

Father’s eyes widened, _Damian, what are you—_

 

_Or you may think it’s a trick, a trap, set by someone who wants to get to you by messing with you. But he is real. And he forgives you._

 

Damian stretched out his arm, the robin landed swiftly on his finger. He used the other unoccupied hand to bring father’s hand up close, and father let him, numbly. Damian moved their hands close and looked expectantly at his father and whispered. _Look, father, it’s him._

 

Father took in a sharp breath. His hand was shaking. Damian gave robin a small nod, and robin leaped onto father’s finger. He shook his feathers lightly and crooked his head, looking curiously at the man with bright eyes.

 

 _You know him, don’t you?_ Damian watched his father holding like the most delicate thing in the world with a broken look on his face.

 

 _You know him._ Damian said quietly. _He was Robin. Well, he still is._ And then, he didn’t know what exactly to do, or say. _Just get to know him. I’ll leave you two alone._

 

Father looked back at him like the spell had finally been broken. He said with a solemn voice, _thank you, Damian._

 

Damian nodded and turned away. He heard father’s voice whispering Jason’s name as he walked away, and couldn’t help but looked back one more time. He saw tears streaming down father’s cheeks. He felt something dropped on his hair and looked up to the sky. It has started snowing again. Damian stuck out his tongue, and tasted the cool and icy feeling of the snowflakes.

 

 


End file.
